ss to you that I have got quite reconciled to the affair, as far
as any sacrifice on my own part is concerned. That bitterness is over; I
can even think of Natalie."

The last words were spoken slowly, and in a low voice; his eyes were
fixed on the night-world outside. What could his friend say? They talked
late into the night; but all his remonstrances and prayers were of no
avail as against this clear resolve.

"What is the use of discussion?" was the placid answer. "What would you
have me do?--break my oaths--put aside my sacred promise made to
Natalie, and give up the Society altogether? My good fellow, let us talk
of something less impossible."

And indeed, though he deprecated discussion on this point, he was
anxious to talk. The fact was that of late he had come to fear sleep, as
the look of his eyes testified. In the daytime, or as long as he could
sit up with a companion, he could force himself to think only of the
immediate and practical demands of the hour; vain regrets over what
might have been--and even occasional uneasy searchings of conscience--he
could by an effort of will ignore. He had accepted his fate; he had
schooled himself to look forward to it without fear; henceforth there
was to be no indecision, no murmur of complaint. But in the
night-time--in dreams--the natural craving for life asserted itself; it
seemed so sad to bid good-bye forever to those whom he had known and
loved; and mostly always it was Natalie herself who stood there,
regarding him with streaming eyes, and wringing her hands, and sobbing
to him farewell. The morning light, or the first calls in the
thoroughfare below, or the shrieking of some railway-whistle on
Hungerford Bridge brought an inexpressible relief by banishing these
agonizing visions. No matter how soon Waters was astir, he found his
master up before him--dressed, and walking up and down the room, or
reading some evening newspaper of the previous day. Sometimes Brand
occupied himself in getting ready his own breakfast, but he had to
explain to Waters that this was not meant as a rebuke--it was merely
that, being awake early, he wished for some occupation.

Early on the morning after this last despairing protest on the part of
Lord Evelyn, Brand drove up to Paddington Station, on his way to pay a
hurried visit to his Buckinghamshire home. Nearly all his affairs had
been settled in town; there remained some arrangements to be made in the
country. Lord Evelyn was to